


don't you worry what their bitter hearts are going to say

by veroniques



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 19:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13347615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veroniques/pseuds/veroniques
Summary: Have you heard? Chuck Taylor is running for Prom Queen.





	don't you worry what their bitter hearts are going to say

**Author's Note:**

> Not real, not mine. Lyrics in the title from The Middle by Jimmy Eat World. For best effect, read this fic while listening to your favourite early 00s pop-punk hits.

* * *

 

"Man, you know he's like....24, right?"  
  
Johnny looked up from his math homework. Well. Chuck's math homework. Johnny had finished his and now he was transcribing it into Chuck's notebook. Johnny could write with both hands, so their teacher never guessed.  
  
(Honestly, Chuck was actually slightly better at math than Johnny now, ever since his mom had paid for some tutoring over the summer, but they'd been doing it this way for so long, it seemed like a bad idea to stop now. Also, truthfully, Chuck didn't have the heart to correct Johnny's mistakes.)  
  
Johnny sighed, good naturedly. To be fair, he had heard this particular train of thought on more than one occasion. Not that Chuck would ever admit to that level of self awareness. It was just really important that everyone knew that he fucking hated Rocky Romero. And let him tell you why.  
  
"No for real, he got held back like 5 years or some shit, dude should have graduated college by now, what the fuck are you doing here? And what kind of name is Rocky, like, okay, are you Sylvester Stallone or a cartoon dog? And those fuckin' songs? Jesus, he's the worst."  
  
Johnny leant back in his chair, bracing one arm against the wall as he regarded Chuck thoughtfully. "You know, he's actually not all that bad."  
  
Chuck scoffed. "Yeah, of course you'd say that, John boy, you're all on the same team."  
  
(Johnny was first string, same as the rest of them, Rocky and all his friends. Chuck had tried out back in his freshman year and been told he was 'real good, but maybe just not quite there yet, keep working!' He had responded by joining the AV Club.)  
  
Johnny rolled his eyes in response to this, and continued, "Yeah, and you're friends with me, so what's the problem?  
  
"That's different." Chuck retorted immediately. "You came with my life. You're......an included accessory."  
  
(Chuck and Johnny technically had known each other since before they were born - their mothers went to the same Lamaze class.)  
  
"Not that different." Johnny mused, clicking his pen. "You've known Rocky a long time too, and Zack, all those guys." He shrugged, turning to look at Chuck. "And Trent?" he added as an afterthought, speaking more to himself than to Chuck.  
  
Chuck's face turned at the mention of Trent. As it always did. A person who maybe didn't know Chuck as well as Johnny did might contemplate pulling at this particular thread. However, Johnny knew Chuck well enough to know that no good would come from forcing Chuck to talk about Trent.  
  
(And besides, Johnny thought, he did enough of it without being prompted.)  
  
"First of all, Trent? Trent is...the actual worst, because he's tricked everyone into thinking he's this like, decent guy, with his fucking hat and his dumb smile, but his best friend is Romero, so like, I bet there's a real garbage monster hidden under all that. A fuckin psychopath, probably."  
  
Johnny laughed incredulously, "Okay, come on, dude, Trent's a good guy, really."  
  
Chuck continued, as if he hadn’t heard Johnny. "And second, I was talking about how Rocky is the worst, and now you've made me lose my train of thought. Did you know he's like 27?" Johnny laughed, and returned to the notebook, frowning slightly. Sometimes he had trouble reading his other handwriting.  
  
There was a knock at the door. Johnny looked up from his work, and Chuck furrowed his brow. Technically, he was not allowed in the tech room without permission. He was definitely not allowed to hang out there after school. He was definitely, definitely not allowed to hide pot in there. He was doing all three at the moment, plus he had brought John boy along, so, you know, there was cause for concern.  
  
"Who is it?" Chuck said, immediately cursing himself for not letting Johnny do the talking. Johnny had a way with people, he was usually the one who got them out of whatever trouble they had got into. Whoever was outside said nothing for a moment, before clearing their throat awkwardly. "Uh, is that you, Chuck? It's Trent? Uh, Trent Beretta." Chuck's immediate reaction would have ordinarily been to point out that he had actually been at the same school as Trent since middle school, 'so I don't really need you to give me your last name, this isn't homeroom, dumbass'.  
  
Chuck said absolutely none of this however, because mostly he was a little freaked out Trent was here and that he seemed to have known they would be inside. Had he been walking past and heard him talking shit about Rocky? Shit, were a bunch of those assholes waiting outside to jump him?  
  
Chuck looked back at Johnny who shrugged, gesturing for him to open the door, having hidden the notebooks and the homework he had been copying. Chuck grimaced, and pulled the door open slightly. If it was Trent and a bunch of his friends, he figured he could yank the door shut. It locked from the inside.  
  
He peered through the wedge of door he had opened. It was Trent, alright, in one of the school varsity shirts with the sleeves cut off and a pair of sweatpants. His hair was slicked back with water, he had just showered, Chuck realised. He appeared to be alone, but Chuck still eyed him with some suspicion.  
  
"Hey man, can I talk to you for a second?" He looked pained, one hand sliding up to the back of his neck, his eyes not quite meeting Chuck's. Chuck was about to tell him...yes? No? Both options were presenting good cases at this point, when Johnny stood up from behind him, ducking under Chuck's arm to push the door open.  
  
Trent blinked when he saw Johnny, his face falling slightly, almost imperceptibly. "Oh shit, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you guys, I can come back late-"

"'S'cool, man." Johnny said breezily. For a really long half second, Chuck resented John boy and his ability to make everyone like him. "I was just leaving anyway, I'll talk to you later Chuck?" He gave Chuck a Significant Look, raising an eyebrow at Trent as Trent looked away. Chuck fought the urge to tell Johnny to go fuck himself.  
  
"Sure, babe, I'll call you later." Chuck added absently. He was just aware enough to know that he wanted to fuck with Trent a little bit, right now.  
  
Johnny grinned, shaking his head. "Later man." He shook Trent's hand in that dumbass way all the jocks were born knowing how to do, (although Trent’s handshake seemed a little weaker for some reason, Chuck noted) and then walked off, whistling obnoxiously.  
  
(Chuck knew that he had spent twenty minutes talking about how Rocky Romero was the worst, but really, it was entirely possible Johnny Gargano was the worst.)  
  
Chuck stood back, letting the door swing open as Trent re-adjusted his baseball cap for the fiftieth time. "So what's up? You need pot? I can't help you, but I know a guy. You need girls? I can't help you there either, obviously." Jesus Christ, what the fuck was he saying? Why had he suddenly become this weirdo 1920s bootlegger? He decided it was time to shut up, before he said anything else equally fucking stupid sounding. He trained his eyes on a spot just below Trent's chin, and stared a hole into it.  
  
"What?" Trent screwed up his face, "No, uh, I don't need anything. I mean, I need to talk to you."  
  
(Somewhere in the far recesses of Chuck's mind, the part of his brain that stored dream memories flashed bright with hopeful recognition.)  
  
Chuck said nothing, and looked at Trent in a way that he hoped was impassive, or at least, disinterested.  
  
"Uh, so me and the guys, you know, Rocky and Zack and Rico," Chuck pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow, and Trent's face got all red and hot, flustered. "Well, anyway, we were fucking around and someone, well, we all thought it might be funny to put like, a dude's name in the ballot for prom queen?" Trent smiled weakly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Like, funny, right? Kimber and Tessa and whoever, and then like, a guy." Chuck didn't really see the humour in it, but he wasn't surprised to hear that Trent's idiot friends had thought it was funny. Trent on the other hand, didn't seem to think it was that funny either.  
  
"Anyway," Trent continued, "We all goofed about it for awhile, but I didn't think they'd actually do it." Chuck had a feeling he knew where this was going. Trent bit his lip slightly, worrying it between his teeth. "I told 'em not to." He shrugged, looking up at Chuck. "But, they, uh, they put your name in the ballot box." Trent's eyes, which had been anxiously roving the entire space around Chuck finally came to rest on Chuck's face, flicking up to make contact with Chuck's own eyes.  
  
Chuck held his gaze for a beat, not saying anything. He was dimly aware of a dull ache in the back of his neck. He was tired. Of exactly what, he wasn't sure, but he knew that he was tired. For sure he was tired of this place, these same idiots he had known forever, spending lunch times and after school hiding in this dusty closet filled with old video cameras and duct tape just to avoid them. He was also a little tired of Trent, so earnest and so carefully choosing his words. Fucking Trent, who was _'a good guy, really.'_ Man, he couldn't wait to tell Johnny about this.

He was especially tired of the fact that even right now, at this moment, when Trent was hand delivering a fresh humiliation to Chuck, his first thought had been to ponder idly what shower gel Trent used.  
  
He said nothing for a moment, trying to think of exactly how he should proceed.  
  
Trent sighed, pushing his hands back through his hair. "Anyway, I'm sorry man, it was just a dumb prank. I just wanted to let you know, so you can like, talk to Gulak and have your name taken out. Or I can do it?" He added this last part hopefully, as if he thought doing this might make this whole thing....unhappen.  
  
Trent pushed his baseball cap back down over his head as he waited for Chuck to respond, and in that moment, Chuck was pretty sure he had never hated a person more. He looked genuinely contrite, was the thing, and Chuck had no fucking time for that.  
  
"No man, it's cool." Chuck smiled, big and toothy, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. Trent winced slightly, as if something about it set him a little on edge. "Thanks for letting me know, really." He stood back, sarcastically giving Trent a little salute. “If you’ll excuse me, I guess I’ve got a campaign to prepare for.”

Trent’s face screwed up in confusion as Chuck stepped back into the tech room, letting the door slam shut in his face. It felt good. He felt like throwing up.

 

* * *

  
  
The next day, Chuck turned up to school an hour late, clutching a stack of posters. He waited until the bell went for second period before he snuck out of the tech room, posters in hand as if he had been at school all day. Johnny spotted him in the hallway, and he rushed up to Chuck, looking incredibly pained.  
  
“Yo man, I heard what happened - are you gonna talk to Drew?"

Chuck laughed and shook his head, “John boy, why would I want to talk to the fuckin’ Regal Beagle for? Isn't it enough that the smallest possible amount of power went to his head, you want me to make him feel like I actually need his help?”  
  
(Chuck had actually already been to speak to Drew the night before, fully expecting to be dressed down for making a mockery of the social committee, or disrespecting the Prom Court, or whatever the fuck stick up his ass Gulak would manage to have about this. He waited until the student committee meeting ended, and caught him on the way out. He was surprised when Drew had clapped him on the back, his hand lingering with a warmth he hadn't thought the class president was capable.  
  
"I just want you to know, Charles, the student committee fully supports your decision to run for Prom Queen, as we do for all students! We want all our students to be able to express themselves as they so choose!" Honestly, if Chuck hadn't already been planning what he was planning, the earnest look on Drew's face would have made it really hard to tell him the whole thing had been a shitty joke.)

“You know why, Chuck. The whole school’s talking about it.” Johnny’s face twisted uncomfortably, and Chuck realised, after a beat, that his expression was full of pity. Chuck felt his stomach twist a little, fury and embarrassment that had been coiling up inside him making their presence felt. He wasn't going to allow Johnny, of all people, to pity him. That's not how this was gonna work. He shook his head. “Nah man, you don’t understand. I’m totally cool with it. Stayed up all night making these.”

With a flourish, he revealed a sheet of poster board. It was black, with the words “Chuck Taylor 4 Prom Queen” emblazoned across it in pink and white glitter. Johnny’s face split into an incredulous grin as he flicked through the other posters, his gaze flicking up to Chuck’s as he came to a stop on a poster reading “He's in way better shape than Tyler Black!” Chuck shrugged slightly, forcing the grin a little, “What? Truth in advertising, man.”

“You're actually going to do this?” Johnny asked. “You know you don't have to, right? Once you drop out, everyone will forget all about it and shit will go back to normal.”

(Like he didn’t know that. The night before, knee deep in glitter, the thought had occurred to him. It would probably be that easy. He could drop out, Zack and fucking Rocky and those guys would probably goof on him for a week, and then it’d be over. The teachers might have even tried keeping the class in for fifteen minutes, lecturing them until any desire to make any kind of smart ass comment was gone. But for some reason, that seemed too easy. Trent’s face kept popping up in his head, every time he thought about it. That hang dog expression and the smell of his shower gel. Just thinking about him twisted his stomach into a knot.)

Chuck’s face was resolute. “I don't want them to forget.” Johnny shrugged, “Okay, well. If that's your decision...give me a couple of posters. We’ve got a team meeting this afternoon, I can hang some up in the gym for you.” Johnny grinned, and Chuck grinned back, his heart feeling a little lighter.

 

 

* * *

 

The first day - it wasn’t great, but it was kind of surprising also. Yeah, a bunch of the jocks all had _hilarious_ things to say, and fucking Ricochet insisted on calling him Charlotte all afternoon, until Charlotte heard him do it in the hallway, at which point she decked him with her history textbook. That was actually pretty great. But a bunch of kids came up to him, kids that he had never even spoken to, and they high fived him, or gave him the thumbs up in the hallway. Sanada, the ridiculously good looking foreign exchange student who spoke to no one leaned back in his desk during Social Studies and clasped his hand in his, this weird little brothers in arms moment? Chuck wasn’t sure what that was about, but uh, he probably wasn’t gonna wash his hand any time soon, if he was being honest.

Another weird thing happened. Chuck was walking towards the gym with Joey and Johnny, when he came across Rocky Romero. Chuck groaned a little - of course, he was standing in front of one of his posters, this one reading _‘Vote for Chuck, he’s not the worst you could do.’_ Rocky was looking at it with this weird little grin on his face. “Yo Chuckie T,” he said, as they approached. Johnny waved awkwardly, and Chuck’s face twisted into immediate disdain. “What the hell do you want, Romero?” Rocky shrugged. “Nothing. Cool poster, man.” Chuck grimaced, refusing to acknowledge the compliment. “We’re gonna be late for gym,” he said, as he pushed past Rocky, who shrugged, calling out to Chuck’s retreating back. “You’ve got my vote!”

He didn’t speak to Trent for most of the week. As a matter of fact, outside of class, Chuck didn’t see Trent at all until the Friday of that week. By this point, the school had more or less accepted that Chuck Taylor was running for Prom Queen. A couple of the students put up a protest with the school administrators, who, clearly not wanting to deal with this, promptly referred the issue to the student committee. After the entire grade spent their Thursday afternoon sitting through Drew Gulak’s 63 slide Powerpoint presentation about tolerance and acceptance, most of the grumbles died down, and most people just assumed Tessa would storm home with it. She was captain of the Cheer Squad, she was dating the QB, the math wasn’t hard.

It was lunchtime, and Chuck was sitting at their regular table, picking sesame seeds off his hamburger bun as he contemplated this. It might take a minor miracle to beat Tessa Blanchard for Prom Queen. He might actually have to campaign. He was about to lean over to Johnny to mention this, when Orange nudged him. “Shit dude, look who it is.” Chuck looked up, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Trent pulled up at their table, lunch tray in hand. Two lunch trays, actually, both stacked with a fuck ton of food. Johnny looked up at him and through a mouthful of hamburger asked, "That's your lunch, bro?"  
  
Trent nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, Coach has me loading." Evidently this response made sense to Johnny, who nodded and returned to his burger and whatever in depth conversation he was having with Candice.  
  
Chuck immediately looked down at his own lunch, willing stupid Trent and his stupid two lunch trays to go anywhere the fuck else. It didn't work. Trent kinda stood there for a second, scuffing the toe of one high top against the other before he shrugged and looked down at Chuck. "This seat taken?" he asked, looking down at the spot opposite Chuck.  
  
"Whatever." Chuck scowled, drawing circles in his ketchup with a french fry, trying to figure out what the fuck Trent was doing here. Trent sat down, Joey shuffling down a spot to make room for his food, and Chuck continued to stare into his burger like it might swallow him up, if he willed it hard enough.  
  
Trent didn't talk much, he just kind of wolfed down his food, interspersed with occasional pulls from one of two bottles - one filled with water, the other some kind of sports drink, maybe? Chuck had to figure this was some kind of bullshit for the team, they probably had him gassed to the gills.  
  
Chuck, meanwhile, had lost his appetite, and was now fully committed to drawing loops and whorls in the ketchup that was now leaking onto the table. Trent watched for a moment, before he reached over, fry in hand, to add a weird little face to one of the loops Chuck had drawn. Chuck watched for a second. It was way detailed, for a ketchup drawing, and kind of ugly, but in a good way. It kinda looked like this wasn't the first time Trent had drawn this particular face.  
  
Trent caught him looking and he dropped the fry, smiling sheepishly. Chuck immediately wished he hadn't been caught looking. “I uh, kinda like to draw, or whatever,” Trent said, and while this was an innocuous comment, Chuck got the feeling it had cost Trent something to say it out loud. A flicker of a smile cut across Chuck’s face as he nodded, “Looks cool, man. You should do it more.” A look that Chuck had never seen on Trent’s face blossomed across it, almost like recognition? Realisation? Chuck didn't know, but he knew that right now the last thing he needed was to look at Trent’s face and not feel shitty about it, so he looked back down at his food. The moment clearly gone, Trent also lowered his head, returning to his second tray of food.  
  
"You know you don't have to do this, right?" Chuck said, after waiting for as long as he could stand. Trent looked up, mouth full of chicken, perplexed. "Whatever guilt trip Catholic mama's boy bullshit you're doing right now, it's okay. Really." Chuck laughed, but there was an edge to it. "You don't have to try and be buddies with me to make yourself feel better, because there's nothing to feel bad about." He pushed his tray forward, sliding it over the goofy drawing Trent had made with his ketchup, standing up. "I'm gonna win the shit out of this thing.”  
  
With that, he walked off, hoping that he looked like a fucking badass. He felt a little like his heart was gonna leap out of his mouth though. He could hear footsteps behind him.  
  
"Yo, Chuck, wait up!" It was Trent, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum as he balanced three empty trays in his arms. Chuck spun around on one foot, his hands itching to help Trent balance the trays. "That's not what this was about."  
  
Chuck gave him a sardonic look. "Oh okay, sure, Beretta." Trent had a look on his face like there wasn't a big enough baseball cap in the world for him to pull down over his head, but instead he shook his head. "Okay, you don’t have to- don’t call me that. Seriously. I just, I dunno. I kinda wanted to hang out with you, I guess." With that, Trent walked away, taking both of his trays, as well as Chuck's over to the counter, and Chuck was left standing there, wondering what the fuck that had been about.

 

* * *

  
  
A couple days later, Chuck was pulling some of his notebooks out of his locker, when a sheet of loose leaf fell out. He stooped down to pick it up, furrowing his brow slightly when he saw what it was. It was covered in weirdly scrawled illustrations, done in black sharpie and green highlighter pen. He turned the page over, marvelling at the swirls and the weird, ugly but cool little alien designs. He looked up, and across the hallway, Trent was stood at his locker, watching him. Chuck felt his face grow hot as he realised what had happened here.

His immediate instinct was to scrunch up the paper into a ball. But as he contemplated it, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead he looked up at Trent, and arranged his features into something he hoped said _‘thanks for the cool art i guess but we’re still not friends also fuck you and your dumb hat’_. It must have come out weird though, because Trent’s face broke into a soft little grin as he closed his locker and shook his head. He was still smiling as he walked away. Chuck folded the paper carefully in half and stuck it in his textbook, not thinking about the way Trent’s whole face had softened like that. All fond and shit.

Chuck wasn't thinking about it. He wasn't thinking about it during math class that afternoon, and he definitely wasn't thinking about it that night, when he fished the paper out of the bottom of his backpack. He was absolutely not thinking about it when he pinned the paper to the back of his door. He just liked weird art, that's all.

 

* * *

  
  
Chuck had never been a kid to share his toys. There was shitty VHS footage to prove it, him yanking a Tonka truck away from Johnny before he bopped him on the head with it. So when Johnny had told him, goofy ass grin on his face, hands behind his head as they lay in the grass in Chuck's backyard, that he _like_ liked Candice, Chuck was a little surprised. Not surprised about Candice and Johnny. That was like, obvious from the stratosphere. Those two dorks belonged together, and it was just lucky they accepted a jerk like him, hanging around, getting all his weird emotional intimacy issues all over their effusive happiness. He was surprised that he didn't mind sharing Johnny.

So when Candice offered to help him with his outfit for the prom, he gratefully accepted. He should have realised, of course, that this offer was not without strings attached, and that in Candice’s case, what she wanted was _details_ .  
  
Candice fixed him with a glare over the rolls of fabric. The thing about Candice was that she had a glare like she could see all the way down into the parts of him that no one else could see. Not even Johnny. Chuck had never been super sure of how that was possible, but it was true. And she was using it right now. In this fuckin’ craft store. In front of a bunch of grandmas and shit. Didn't seem fair.

“Chuck. You're totally hot for Trent. And that's fine. That's good, even! You guys would make a cute couple.” Chuck pulled a disgusted face, and she giggled into a roll of tulle, waving a hand at him so she could keep talking. “I’m serious! But you winning Prom Queen so you can, and I quote, 'jam it up his stupid ass', is probably not the best way to tell someone you like them. Even for you."  
  
"Okay, Corn Dawg, that is not why I'm doing this." Chuck sputtered, indignantly. "Me thinking Beretta is hot is completely separate from the whole....Prom Queen thing. I'm doing that to prove a point.” Candice beamed at him, clearly about to say something in response, so he continued to talk over her. “I don't even think he's that hot anyway, who wants those fuckin meat tits in your face all the time, not me. Have you ever seen Adam Cole? He's like. Eight times hotter than Trent, if we're going to go there. Or even that sociopath Rhodes, or, or fuckin’ Sanada? And you know what? There's girls at this school, even. With boobs and everything."  
  
Chuck was aware he was rambling, and Candice was grinning at him and he really wished Johnny were here to deflect her attention and he really needed to stop talking now. He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Besides, shouldn't you be working on your own campaign?" She shrugged, fiddling with a loose thread on a roll of fabric. "I dropped out of the race." Chuck looked down at her, and she smiled again, the kind of smile he imagined a dude might fall in love with, if he wasn't careful. "I didn't want to split the vote, y'know?"  
  
Chuck pursed his lips, and shoved a roll of aqua colored sequined fabric at her. "This one." he said, wincing through the tiniest lump in his throat. If Candice noticed, she said nothing, just nodded as she pulled out her scissors. "Brings out your eyes.”, she agreed, as she sliced into the fabric. He huffed a little more, but it was mostly for show.

 

* * *

 

  
Chuck and Trent shared a lab class. They had never been partners, but Rocky was away one day and Mr Quackenbush paired them up, because Chuck figured he had to be cursed. Trent smiled as Chuck approached the bench with their samples, wearing the goggles up around his hair like a headband. Chuck gave a half assed little nod, and pulled out his notebook as Quack started writing notes up on the board. Trent fiddled with the boiler for a moment, before he leaned back against the counter, chewing his lower lip. Chuck tried very hard not to notice the way Trent had rolled the sleeves up on his lab coat. He had only noticed in the first place because it was a clear violation of Quack’s Lab Safety Rules, of course. Trent shifted, humming awkwardly. He clearly wanted to say something.

”Spit it out.” Chuck mumbled, and Trent looked down at him. “You say something?” he asked, and Chuck shook his head. “Oh,” was all Trent said, for a moment. “You know,” he began again, and this time Chuck looked up to where he was standing, half an eye on Quack, who was too busy yelling about phosphorus or god knew what. “Uh, I was thinking, maybe. Maybe about taking art class?” He finished this point with a question mark, as if he was asking Chuck - his opinion? His permission? Chuck wasn’t sure, so he just shrugged, trying very hard to seem like he couldn’t care less. “Yeah,” Trent continued, leaning down to pour something in their beaker. “It’s uh, it’s during practice though, so I don’t know how that’s gonna work. Plus it’s late in the session. And the guys would probably think it was dumb.” He turned away from the beaker to make eye contact with Chuck for an instant. “Kind of a dumb idea, don’t you think?”

Chuck felt an exasperated little sigh leave his body, and he knew Trent had heard him this time. “Hey Trent?” he began, in a mockery of the kind of soft, encouraging voice a friend might have, as Trent nodded, almost a little too eagerly. “Why do you care so much what those assholes think of you?” He exclaimed, his entire face screwed up into a grimace. “You’re _good_ at art. That picture you gave me - I put it up on my wall, dude, it’s good! If you wanna do art, do it! If you can’t miss practice - God forbid, right? - take an independent study, and stop caring so much about what those idiots think of you.”

Chuck was seething, and he didn’t know why. He didn't know why the duck of Trent’s head as he spoke bothered him so much, but it did.Trent looked stung and he immediately retorted. “Oh yeah, _I’m_ the one who should stop caring what those idiots - my friends, by the way, should think of me. Why are you doing this, Chuck? What are you trying to prove?”

Chuck opened his mouth to speak, but the bell rang, and he piled up his books and dashed out, leaving Trent and his questions behind. He cut lab for the next two days, just in case.

 

* * *

 

It turned out running for Prom Queen wasn’t all filling out a sweater and having the right boyfriend. They actually had to do shit. Three days before Prom, the student committee announced they were having a Town Hall meeting. Jesus Christ, Chuck thought. Someone had to take away Gulak’s access to C-Span. He saw Kimber preparing for her speech the entire day before, practicing this smile that didn’t go all the way up to her eyes, and an honest to God curtsy.  Chuck did not prepare at all, but he did fish his cleanest shirt out of the pile on his bedroom floor on the day, which was basically the same thing.

It was a question and answer format, the girls all answering questions about school spirit and lunch meat and whatever the fuck else was important to Prom royalty, Chuck had no idea. When it was his turn, he got up to the mic and one of the kids from the student committee, Ali, Chuck thought, maybe, asked him “Do you think you’re brave, choosing to run for Prom Queen?”  
  
Chuck screwed up his face. What the hell, why didn’t he get a question about whether or not to continue Pizza Fridays? “Uh, thanks for your question, bud.” He gave a corny thumbs up, and there was some scattered laughter. “Uh, do I think I’m brave for running for Prom Queen? Yeah, sure. Sure I’m brave. Why the hell not?” Gulak grimaced at the curse word and Chuck rolled his eyes. “I mean, to be honest, I don’t feel that brave. It's not like I chose to run for Prom Queen.” In the crowd, he could see Johnny making a slashing motion across his neck, his eyes a little wide. “Yeah, I guess I can say this now. Someone put me in the ballot as a joke? I’m not gonna say who, I’m not a rat, but I guess they thought it’d be funny.” He sniffed, shrugging a little as he looked over at Drew, who looked appalled that anyone would dare treat the Prom Court election process as a joke.

“And I guess maybe they thought I was doing this as a joke, or to be in on the joke. Can’t laugh at someone who’s in on it, right?” He grinned, wide across his face. “Jokes on them, because not only am I taking this seriously, but --” He couldn’t help it, his eyes found Trent. It was probably that neon yellow headband. “You know what? Maybe I’m not brave, and maybe I’m making myself look real stupid doing this, but at least I know that I’m not scared, you know? I don’t care what a bunch of assholes in football helmets think of me. I’m doing this because I want to. And I’m definitely gonna fuckin’ win.”

At this, Mr Quackenbush stood up, his voice booming across the hall. “Mister Taylor!” But Chuck didn’t notice, because someone in the crowd had stood up, Brian Myers, maybe? Whoever it was pumped his fist in the air and bellowed, “Fuck yeah, Chuckie T!” The students roared, and the hall rapidly descended into chaos. Chuck had half a second to find Trent’s face again in the crowd, a look on his face that he couldn’t quite read. Chuck didn't want to look at him. He couldn't stop looking at him. He booked it out of the hall, out of the school, and he didn’t stop running until he was two blocks away, his chest on fire and his legs aching.

Later that afternoon, he was up in his room. Mister Quackenbush had called, but his mom wasn’t home from work yet, so he had deleted the voicemail. He reminded himself to forge a note from her later on. He checked his phone. He had six missed calls. Four were from Johnny. No surprise. One was from a number he didn't recognise. And one was from Candice. He called her back.

“You okay Chuckie?” Her first words, and he let out a long exhale, what felt like the first breath he had taken since he had left the hall. “Yeah.” He was lying, and he knew it, probably she knew it too. “I’m fine, whatever.” He laughed hollowly, and he could hear the concern in Candice’s voice, even while she played along with Chuck’s obvious lie. “I’ve got the dress ready. I’m coming over now. Johnny’s with me.” He wanted to tell her not to bother. He wanted them to be here already. He hung up, and rolled over, burying his face in his pillow as he sighed. His phone buzzed, three times in succession, three text messages. After a beat he rolled over, screwing his face up when he didn't recognise the number.

 

_\- got your number from gargano_

_\- just wanted to talk_

_\- call me when you can_

 

As if he didn’t already know, his phone buzzed again while he was holding it.

 

_\- its trent btw_

 

He groaned, and threw his phone across the room, burying his head under his pillow. His mom got home shortly after that, and then he pretended to be asleep until Johnny and Candice left.

 

* * *

  
  
Chuck pulled the dress on. Candice had actually done a pretty decent job. It was ugly, but like, the good kind of ugly, flashy and kinda tight with a slit up the thigh and everything. He turned as he examined himself in the mirror, grimacing. Did his ass really look like that? How did Tessa and the other girls make this pose look so good when they did their cheer squad shit? His eyes cast around the room and landed on a pair of basketball shorts. He pulled them on gratefully, adjusting the dress back down around his thighs, as he admired the effect. Cool. At now at least he didn't have to worry about accidentally having his dick on display, or whatever. Next he grabbed his tie, four in hand, no collar to tuck it under but fuck it, it was prom, he was gonna be a gentleman.

“This is so fucking dumb, why the fuck am I doing this.” He sighed deeply, listening to the music coming from outside the hall. Now that he was here, any shred of self confidence he had left was withering away. Why was he even here? He hadn’t even planned on going to prom, much less showing up in a dress and maybe, potentially winning Prom Queen? Despite his low mood, he had to laugh at that one. There was no fucking way. One of the girls, one of the hot girls would take it out, the status quo always won out and besides, he didn’t even want to win. This whole thing - he had done this whole thing for what? For revenge? For spite? He didn’t even know anymore.

“Yo, Chuckie T.” A voice from the dark hallway behind him. Of course it was Rocky Romero. He spun on his heel, mustering up all the dignity he could as he fixed Rocky with a contemptuous look. Rocky grinned, but not in a mean way. “You look good. I heard LeRae was working on something for you and I knew it’d be cool.”

Chuck snorted. “Oh, yeah. I’m a total babe.” Rocky shrugged, throwing his hands up in the air. “The color brings out your eyes, dude. Take a compliment for once, Jesus.” Rocky made to leave, pushing past Chuck, when he turned to stop and look back at him. “You know what, Chuck? I’m sorry we pulled this stupid prank. I should have said that a while ago, but I didn’t, and I am sorry, I mean that, man. But maybe you should try being nice to people who are trying to be nice to you - you might be happier.”

Chuck felt his face grow hot, a retort ready on the tip of his tongue, but Rocky wasn’t finished. “Other people might be happier too.” Chuck screwed up his face. “And what is that supposed to mean?” After a moment, a thought occurred to him. “Did Johnny say something to you?” Rocky, now looking supremely put upon, shook his head slowly, “No,” he said, with an exasperated sigh. “But how about, after all this is done, why don’t you and I sit down together and talk about why my best friend is sitting at home, feeling shitty, instead of being at his prom?”

It took Chuck a few beats for him to realise who Rocky was talking about. “Trent?” He laughed, rudely, forced. “Trent has nothing to do with me. I have nothing to do with Trent!” Rocky fixed him with a one eyed gaze. “Exactly.” He walked off. Chuck gaped at him. That fucking eyepatch. Rocky Romero really was the worst.

Chuck stood there for a second, scuffing one sneaker heel against the other. Was Trent really not here? That defeated the whole purpose of this whole...prom campaign….thing. The whole point of it was to win. The whole point was to prove that he didn’t give a fuck about Trent and his dumb friends. He felt deflated. But more than that, he felt this dull little ache in his chest. He hoped Trent wasn’t at home, feeling bad, because of him. He needed to eat something, probably. He needed to drink something, definitely.

“Orange.” He sidled up to his friend, who was lingering around the punch bowl with a suspicious gleam in his eyes. “Whatever you’re about to put in that bowl, give it to me.” Orange shrugged, and handed the flask he had secreted inside his suit jacket over. “Nice legs,” he commented, as Chuck gave him the finger and downed several mouthfuls of whatever was in that flask. He winced as he handed it back and then stalked off, still feeling bad. After a moment or two, he pulled out his phone. The texts from Trent were still there. Unanswered. What had he wanted to talk about? Why wasn't he here tonight? He hesitated for a second, before typing.

 

_\- romero told me youre not coming what gives man i shaved my legs for this_

 

He deleted this.

 

_\- youre gonna miss seeing me win im gonna kiss gulak on the mouth for sure no problem_

 

He also deleted this.

 

_\- im gonna need someone to call an ambulance when tessa beats the fuck out of me for winning her crown_

 

This one, his finger hovered over for a second. It was light and kinda funny, he guessed. Friendly, right? Who said he couldn’t be friendly with Trent? Before he could stop himself, he had pressed the send button.

He hated himself big time for being a little disappointed when his phone didn't immediately buzz with a reply. He shoved the phone down the front of his dress, like he had seen girls do before. It immediately fell straight to the floor, and he cursed, bending down to pick it up. He was yanking the dress up to get to the pocket in his shorts when Johnny’s head poked out of the gym double doors. “They're about to announce the winner, dude!”

“Yeah, I’m coming.” He called out, as he shoved his phone in his pocket, before pulling the dress back down around his thighs. His stomach was doing flips as Gulak stood on stage, actually fucking making all of the nominees stand there, like this was Miss America and they were gonna get a car and a scholarship fund, instead of a plastic tiara and a voucher to Dairy Queen.

Adam Cole already had his crown, no surprises, he had won Prom King. Tessa and Kimber were both up on stage, he could see Candice out of the corner of his eye, Johnny giving him the thumbs up. He couldn't see Trent anywhere. He sighed, and hitched up his dress to climb the stairs, as Drew continued his spiel.

“Can I get a drum roll please?” The drummer in the band they had hired raised an eyebrow, clearly he had not been briefed on this, but nevertheless he gave the most half hearted drumroll Chuck had ever heard.

“This year's Prom Queen is………” The pause Drew left, presumably for effect, went on so long that Chuck’s mind started to wander. Had Trent read the message? He wished he could reach his phone, but probably flashing the whole school to get to it was ill-advised. All of a sudden, the entire student body exploded, and it took Chuck the space of two heartbeats to figure out what had happened. He had won.

 _He had won?_ This couldn't be real. But Quack was handing him a bunch of flowers, and Kimber was hugging him and everyone was clearing a path to the microphone, and to a little pillow with a legit fucking tiara on it. Chuck started laughing as Drew delicately placed the tiara on his head, the little combs of the tiara catching on his hair as he pushed it into place. Blinking a little from the spotlight blaring right in his face, he stood up to the microphone.

This couldn’t be real. There was no way he beat Tessa Blanchard. Tessa was saying as much as she stood across stage from him, eyes blazing with misplaced rage. Chuck decided now might not be the best time to tell her it was her boyfriend’s fault she had lost - his dumb prank, her vote margin gone. Or maybe it was. He grinned, as he cleared his throat. “Hey. I’m Chuck Taylor. I’m your Prom Queen.” Half the student body let out a massive cheer, and he nodded, raising a hand to quiet them, amazed that it actually worked. “Uh, so, I’m not gonna take too much time, I know you guys don't wanna look at me all night - shout out to Candice LeRae for this dress, by the way.” He pointed at Candice and Johnny let out a whoop, Chuck shaking his head fondly. “Anyway, so, thanks for voting, I guess, thanks for taking this semi seriously, and also, um, sorry for saying fuck at the assembly, Mr Quackenbush. And sorry for saying fuck again just now."

This time it was definitely Brian Myers who let out a roar of “FUCK yeah, Chuckie T!” And once again the student body dissolved into cheers. Most of them, Chuck knew, weren't for him. But that was okay. He shrugged apologetically at Drew and Quack, before being directed over to Adam Cole for a photo by one of the yearbook staff.

 

* * *

  
Adam regarded Chuck in his dress with a speculative look in his eye. Chuck felt a little sorry for him. Adam’s parents probably wouldn't be super glad when his Prom portrait was with him. He self consciously fidgeted with the fabric of his dress, relieved he had worn shorts underneath. He wondered if Trent had got his text.  
  
Centre stage, Drew had wrangled the microphone back and was attempting to exert some control over the crowd of teenagers. "Now, traditionally, there is a first dance, between our Prom King and Queen...." he trailed off a little at this point, giving Adam a significant look. "Tradition is important, you guys! It is the backbone of our society!"

  
Adam looked Chuck up and down again, before he offered him a hand, shrugging. "I'm game if you are, Your Highness." An incredulous grin spread over Chuck's face and he took the hand Cole offered, "Okay, first of all, it's Your Majesty. Second of all, I'm taller than you and a better dancer, no offense, so I'm gonna lead." To his credit, Adam didn't object and Chuck awkwardly positioned them into the boxiest waltz that had ever occurred on this earth.

Up on stage, Drew was in his element, one hand outstretched towards them. “Ladies and gentlemen, your Reseda High Prom King and Queen, Adam Cole and Chuck Taylor.” Chuck grinned as he looked down at Adam, who laughed and shook his head. He really was good looking. “Sorry man, I’m sure this isn't what you imagined.” Adam waved him off, “Nah, it's cool. This way my girlfriend won’t get mad at me for dancing with another girl.” Chuck quirked an eyebrow, “Are you saying I’m not good looking enough to steal someone’s boyfriend? Dude, have you seen this dress?” Adam grinned, giving him a quick once over. “Yeah, okay, point taken.”

After a moment or two, he noticed Adam’s eyes shift to a spot just behind him, and they had stopped doing whatever they had been doing that just barely passed for dancing. “Oh shit, your girlfriend didn't hear what I said, did she? I’m pretty sure it's still not cool if I fight a girl. Or is it Tessa? Does she look pissed?” Chuck asked, and Adam shook his head. “Mind if I cut in?”, came a voice from behind him and Chuck knew instantly who it belonged to.

He turned around, Adam melting away from his side, as he faced Trent. Trent, out here looking like a fucking stud in a legit tuxedo, Trent, with a flower in his buttonhole and no hat and everything. Chuck felt his face flush and he was trying not to notice how Trent’s eyes were just roving all over him, his face, all over the dress, the shorts. The crown.

“Congrats, Your Majesty.” He gave the tiniest of bows and Chuck felt a little tingle of pleasure, but it wasn't spite, he was genuinely happy to see Trent. He was glad to see him.

“Thanks”, Chuck said, tapping the crown. “I’m pretty sure Blanchard has a hit out on me now.” Trent shook his head, stepping a little closer to Chuck. “She’ll get over it.” Chuck just barely noticed the familiar scent of Trent’s shower gel, and he suddenly felt like he probably had to keep talking right now. “Thanks, also, y’know, for putting me in the ballot. Now I get to put this on my college application, which will definitely help me get into the sorority I want, I guess.” Trent’s face twisted a little, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I’m sorry man, it really was a dumb joke.”

Chuck shrugged. All the anger he had felt had kind of evaporated. He just felt relieved. Relieved that it was over, a little. Relieved that Trent was here and not sad sacking it at home, making Chuck feel guilty, for sure. “I was kind of a dick about it, it’s okay.” I was kind of a dick _to you_ , was the subtext here, but Chuck couldn’t bring himself to say it. He looked up from his sneakers into Trent’s face, and found that Trent was watching him intently. He cleared his throat, and nodded.

After a moment or two, Trent nodded back. “Uh, so, I went to go speak to Mister Barry about doing some art classes.” Chuck’s face immediately broke into a smile, and Trent nodded again, eagerly. “He knows a place that runs a class, outside of practice hours. It’s not for school, just for fun. I’m gonna try it.” Chuck nodded. “Sounds cool, man. I’m happy for you.” While Trent had been speaking, Chuck had been listening, but he had also been keenly aware of Trent moving closer and closer to him, the fabric of Trent’s tux brushing against the bare skin of his arms. He was also now very aware that Trent had just put his hand on his waist, and he cocked an eyebrow slightly. “We’re not gonna dance?” Trent asked sheepishly in response, ducking his head. “I mean, you were dancing with Adam.”

Chuck laughed, but not unkindly, sliding his arms obligingly around Trent’s shoulders. "Oh, okay, I see what’s going on here. You trying to get in my skirt, Trent? I'm the fuckin prom queen, guy, you're never going to get a piece of this ass."  
  
"Shut up", Trent smiled, this goofy ass grin that went across his whole face and all the way down into Chuck's blood, making him feel all tingly and warm. Chuck felt his stomach swoop for a half second, before he just leaned in and kissed him. Trent kinda tasted like Gatorade and mouthwash, and it felt a little weird, but it was good weird. Good weird was also Trent's hand curling tight around his waist and pulling him in.

They kissed for a moment longer, but it might have been half an hour for all Chuck knew. Chuck could hear someone whooping in the background, and whoever it was got the bird flipped at them with Chuck's free hand. After that they pulled apart, not really dancing, just doing the same kind of swaying bullshit every other gross couple was doing right now. It was kinda nice. He could see Candice, looking over at him over the top of Johnny's shoulder, giving him a giant thumbs up. He tipped his crown to her, and it teetered precariously on his head. Trent, noticing this, looked at him from under his lashes and grinned a little sheepishly.

“So you gonna let all that power go to your head?” he asked, adjusting the crown on Chuck’s head, his fingers catching a little in Chuck’s hair, Chuck tilting his head ever so slightly to meet them. Chuck laughed in response, “Oh, absolutely. I’m gonna go Marie Antoinette on all your asses.”

“Marie who?” Trent’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion and Chuck just grinned, shaking his head. “Dude, pay attention in History class every now and then. Never mind.” Trent nodded, and they swayed for a few more moments, neither of them really saying anything. It was, Chuck thought, kinda nice.

Trent cleared his throat. “You really put my drawing up in your room?” he said this as if he had been holding this thought in for awhile. Chuck made a face, and shrugged. “Whatever, I like aliens. It’s not like, a thing, so don't get all fucking girly about it. Besides, it’s on the back of my bedroom door, you can see for yourself when you come over.”

Trent grinned and raised an eyebrow and Chuck flushed as he realised the implication. “You want me to come over? You want me to see your room?” Trent was still grinning, but his voice was a little weird, as if he didn't quite believe what he was saying himself. Chuck shrugged nonchalantly, but a smile had pasted itself permanently on his face. He couldn’t hide that.

Chuck looked around, trying to find something to say that wasn’t _so, you wanna kiss me again, maybe?_ “You know, it was close. The count, I mean. I saw on Drew’s presentation up there. Like one vote or something.”

  
Trent smiled, wide, and Chuck felt his stupid heart leap again, "Oh yeah? You know, I voted for you."

 

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I owe a debt of unending gratitude to mrs_laugh_track, not only for cheerleading and rough draft reading and generally being an excellent creative sounding board and a boss ass friend BUT the idea for this one sprung from a late night conversation we had about this photo of Chuck wrestling in a dress https://www.instagram.com/p/Ba4Lx5yBy7Z/ , and I'm pretty sure the 'what if Chuck Taylor ran for prom queen' comment was hers, and I just took it and ran with it.
> 
> Anyway, nearly 9k later and I finally got to shoe horn my two favourite things together: loose references to She's All That and professional wrestling, so I guess I can check that one off the bucket list.


End file.
